A Fool's Errand
by piperholmes
Summary: World War 2 AU-Nurse Sybil Crawley has spent the last year surviving the bombs dropped on London, long shifts at the hospitals, & the horrors of war, but now she faces the disgrace of returning to Downton a compromised woman. Tom Branson, recovering from wounds sustained in battle, has grown very fond of his nurse & is desperate to help. But will their impulsive plan work?
1. Chapter 1

**A Fool's Errand**

**By: piperholmes**

**A/N: Written as part of the Rock the AU, which for January was WW2. This was a drabble I wrote that was received well enough on Tumblr ( ) that I decided to add a few chapters to it. So this chapter was initially written as just a glimpse into an idea, which is why it just sort of starts and ends. But since I'll be adding to it, I decided to post it here. -As a side note I haven't forgotten about A Hard Sacrifice, nor will I neglect it forever. When the mojo returns I will update it! (Thank you for the encouragement!) AS usual, this is unbeta'd**

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><p><em><strong>London, 1941<strong>_

He found her walking the hall of the hospital, her gaze distant, eyes red and glistening, her cheeks pale.

She didn't see him.

Clearly the letter gripped tightly in her hand had brought unfortunate news; as they so often did these days.

He didn't know what made him do it, she was clearly not in her nurses uniform, heading back to the dormitory, in the last few weeks of his recovery they had come to know one another, sharing in conversations, laughter, feelings and dreams, secrets, but he supposed she was that way with all her patients; giving a bit of sunshine in a dark world of war.

And yet he couldn't deny the way his heart beat faster, his lips curling up at the sight of her, his skin tingling, hoping her fingers would sooth his pain.

So, despite the awkwardness of their relationship, he called out to her; surprising them both.

She turned to him quickly, her hands moving to swipe away the evidence of her pain from her face, the wounded always so willing to hide the weakness.

Clearing her throat, she stood calmly before him, her voice even. "Branson? What are you doing out of bed?"

He gave her a small smile, warmed by her concern even amidst her own distress. "I'm suppose to be walking about," he reminded her, dramatically stretching his legs, working the muscles that had been so beaten when the ambulance he'd been driving had been hit by a mortar shell and flipped.

She nodded distractedly, Tom could see the skin of her throat tightening as she forced a swallow.

They stood silent for a moment, neither certain of what needed to be said.

"Are you…" he hesitated. "Is ever thing alright?"

Her nervous, humorless chuckle, a response born of nearly incomprehensible emotion, caused his stomach to clench.

"Of course," she answered brightly. "Nothing for you to worry about. Shall I help you back?"

He blinked at her, then shook his head. "I know…I know it's probably not considered proper, but I'm a good listener. Maybe I can help."

He saw her face begin to crumple, a fresh wave of tears coming before she pressed her lips together, forced a deep breath to regain her composure.

"That's very kind but—"

Impulsively he grabbed her hand, cutting off her words, as he tugged her lightly, leading her to an empty examination room, ignoring the shooting burn running through his leg as he walked faster than his limp allowed.

He shut the door, the bright white light of the noon sun filled the room, reflecting off the metal instruments, giving the room a false feeling of happiness.

Her eyes darted about, refusing to look at him.

"Nurse Crawley…"

Still she kept her blue eyes from him.

"Sybil," he tried softly, her name new to his lips but as easy as placing a final puzzle piece.

Her gaze collided with his, an energy buzzing about them as if the sound of her name had flipped a switch, filling the room with the constant hum of the electric lights.

"I've told myself and told myself that there is nothing between us, that you treat me just as you treat all the soldiers," he began, his eyes never leaving hers, even as his heart pounded in is chest. "But even if that's true, even if you've done no more than be the best nurse a lad could as for, I want to help."

He saw her begin to shift, resisting his attempts.

"Please," he said. "Just listen for a moment."

He saw her settle, her shoulders drooping wearily, surrendering.

"You've…you've grown to be someone I care about a great deal," he began. "You've given me the gift of hope. The things I've seen…"

It was his turn to look away. It was all too raw.

Her small hand rested against his arm suddenly, pulling him away from the horrors.

"I hope you will at least consider us friends," he continued, forcing the words passed the images of his former pals dead, blown to bits, crying out for their ma's. He forced his eyes back to hers. "Clearly something's upset you. Please let me a friend to you. I will help in whatever way I can."

Sybil pressed her lips together, hopelessness shining in her bright blue eyes.

"I don't thing anything can be done to help," she offered quietly, her fingers at her lips, forcing back the tears. He saw her hesitate, thought he saw shame.

"I'm pregnant," she whispered so abruptly it took him a moment to realize what she'd said.

Tom felt a slash of pain rip through his heart. He couldn't stop his eyes from falling stupidly to her abdomen, then her hand.

"Oh…I didn't…I didn't know you were married…"

She swallowed. "I'm not."

Tom forced his brow to stay put, resisting the urge to manifest his shock. "Oh," he repeated slowly.

He could only watch as she buried her face behind her hands, the crumpled letter still held between her fingers.

And it all made sense.

"Your letter. Has your…uh…the baby's father…has he…" he swallowed nervously before delicately asking, "died?"

Her bitter laughter surprised him, confusing him as he watched her hand fall helplessly to her sides before she balled the paper up into her fist.

"I was played," she said, her words sad. "I thought he loved me. I thought he wanted to marry me and when he left for war he begged me to give him a memory to hold on to and I believed him."

"I don't understand—"

"He's written to tell me he can't be a father, that he doesn't want to marry me any longer and that he can't even be sure the baby is his. It's his, I swear. He's the only man I've ever…been with—"

"That's disgusting!" Tom spat, his cheeks pink with anger.

Sybil stiffened at his words, wincing from him.

"No," he quickly amended. "Not you, never you love. Him. He's disgusting. To turn his back on you, on the baby. To accuse you of…to even suggest…" Tom's anger prevented him from speaking coherently. "My darling girl."

She shook her head. "I don't know what I'm going to do. My father is going to kill me. I begged him to allow me to be a nurse. You don't know…you don't know what it took to be able to leave his house, to come to London. To be free…and now I have to go back in disgrace and throw myself on his mercy. I'll lose my position. I don't know what I'm going to do."

They stood silent, each lost in thought.

"I'm sorry," Sybil said. "I didn't mean to unburden myself like that on you…I just don't know what I'm going to do."

It was the way her voice broke, shattering into a thousand pieces, cutting into him. He's always been impulsive; berated by his mother on more than one occasion. He'd joined up impulsively, moved by the plight of smaller nations being bullied. His time in war should have been lesson enough. Even now he could hear his mother voice in his head.

_"Tommy, when are you going to learn to look before you jump headlong into something?"_

But this was different.

This was her.

"Marry me."

"What?"

The words had shaken them both, but now they were said he felt eager, excited. He felt alive.

"People will figure out the baby came first, but surely your family won't cast you off forever if you show up with a husband. I'll give you, and the baby, my name."

"Branson—"

"Tom, my name's Tom."

"Yes I know." She gave a small smile of acknowledgement before sobering. "Tom, I can't ask you to do that."

"You didn't ask," he pointed out.

"Fine, I can't expect you to do that. This isn't for you to fix. I've made my mistake."

"Except you didn't," Tom insisted. "At least not by yourself. This baby has a father; one who's not worthy of the title. I know I'm not much now, a broken soldier who will be headed back to the war soon, but if I survive this madness I'll make something of myself I promise."

"I know you will," she interjected quickly.

"Then bet on me. We can marry and I'll go back with you to meet your family before I report for duty in a few weeks. There's a very good chance I won't return—"

"Don't say that," Sybil interrupted, her face stern.

Tom took a breath. It was the reality; the reality he'd come to accept.

"Sybil, you and I know what awaits me. If my life is to be cut short then please allow me to do something great with the time I have left. And if I am so lucky as to return I promise to devote every waking minute to your happiness."

She shook her head. "I can't allow you to throw away your life for me. You hardly know me."

"It's true I don't know everything about you, but I do know you. I know your kindness, your passion, your faith and strength, your courage. And I won't be throwing my life away. I'm not being selfless here Sybil. I feel, I have very strong feelings for you. Maybe…maybe you could write me while I'm gone. I think if I had your letters to look forward to I might be able to endure this war. We can spend the rest of our lives getting to know each other."

"And what about the baby? Will you accept him?" she challenged.

"Or her," Tom smiled. "Any child you bear will be my child Sybil. On this I promise you."

He could see her waver, her brow knitted together as she considered his words.

"If I don't survive this war," he pressed, "then you and the baby will have the protection of my name. If I do survive and we find we don't suit then we amicably divorce."

Sybil's expression grew wary. "You're Catholic Tom, your faith doesn't allow for divorce."

Tom's face grew hard. "My _faith_ is between God and me, and right now I'm not too concerned with what He thinks. Besides, simply marrying you is cause enough for the church to frown on me."

"My father—"

"Your father will be angry, yes, because it will seem as if we'd anticipated our wedding vows, but—"

"No Tom, you don't understand, I can't promise that my father, my family will ever accept you."

He frowned. "Because I'm Irish or Catholic…or both?"

She closed her eyes for a moment, her back straightening. "My father is an Earl."

For the second time Tom was left speechless.

"Nurse Crawley is not the first title I've had," she said slowly, allowing him to catch up.

"You're—"

"Lady Sybil Crawley, daughter to Robert Crawley, the Earl of Grantham. That means you'd come back with me to the family estate in York."

"Estate?" he parroted dumbly.

"Perhaps you don't know me as well as you thought," Sybil offered sadly. "Perhaps you are regretting your offer. If I show up pregnant and having eloped with a soldier, there is still no guarantee they won't throw me out, and your sacrifice will have been for nothing and you'll find yourself burdened with a wife and child, a child who is not your own."

"I've already said if we wed, the child _will_ be mine Sybil."

Slowly he moved to her, taking her cold hands into his. "And I could never think of you as a burden. If your family wants to give you up, that's their affair, and the more fool they are. But I would never be so easily convinced. I believe a life with you is no sacrifice, but if you insist on calling it that, then fine. Just know that I also a believe a future worth having comes from sacrifice."

Carefully he slid one hand up her arm, the contact sending a shiver through them both, before coming to rest against her cheek, his touch light as his thumb stroked tenderly.

"I'm willing to give this a try," he whispered, "and if you are too then the rest is detail."

She blinked up at him owlishly, her eyes searching his, her fingers clasping tightly to his hand.

It was crazy. Truly it was.

But did that make it wrong?

She doubted her family would ever accept such a marriage. And yet, as she took in his earnest, sincere face, she felt her heart warm. It was true, they'd only known each other a few weeks, but he had listened to her, _really_ listened to her when she spoke of her dreams and aspirations. He'd challenged her on some of her beliefs, and happily accept any challenge she'd thrown in return. She'd never know such freedom, such liberation from the restraints of the expectations and limits of her position. Was that enough? She'd proven herself naive in matters of the heart. Was this another mistake?

No. This wasn't the same. She'd been lying to herself, trying to convince herself that the man her family hoped her to wed was the man for her. In truth she'd allowed him liberties in a hope to feel something stronger for him.

It was different with Tom. Easier. Exhilarating. It made her heart beat faster, her mind feel scattered and stretched, her insides tingle.

She was a fool.

And he was a fool to offer.

_"The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool." _

It was lunacy.

"My answer is…yes."

_to be continued_

**Thanks for reading!**

**I created a photoset to go with this story, if anyone is interested, it's on my Tumblr.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A Fool's Errand**

**Part 2**

**By: Piperholmes**

**A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews and comments! You people are marvelous for encouraging me! I'm sorry this is a super short chapter but this scene needed to happen and it could go into the next chapter but I wanted it to be a moment unto itself. I plan to post a longer chapter tomorrow or the next day that will pick up immediately after this one. Unbeta'd.**

To say the wedding had been small is an insult to the minuet descriptor. The two had snuck off one afternoon to the registrar and in less than 10 minutes, with two government works as witnesses, they'd become husband and wife.

Tom had worn his uniform, while Sybil had pulled out a rather fancy looking dinner dress. At his wide eyed expression, she had given him a shy smile, grateful Mary had insisted she bring at least one with her. She supposed she felt a little bereft at the lack of a wedding party. She wasn't one to expect lavish outpourings, but if she were honest, she doubted her dream wedding had included the balding gentleman who wed them, and the nameless, faceless witnesses. But war had changed the country, changed her, and while it was odd to have spent her childhood imagining all the faces of her family at her wedding, while the groom had always remained a blur, and to find herself now, surrounded by people she would never remember, yet staring at the defined features of her husband-to-be, she felt a strange calm, and all those imagings fell away. All expectations paled as he turned and saw her, his expression of awe more memorable than the grandest of nuptials.

They had both been so nervous, Sybil having been sick twice that morning, and once more one their way to the registrar's office. She'd flushed, mumbled something about the baby, and they both ignored the way they awkwardly stood apart. He'd been so subdued; Sybil feared he was regretting his choice.

But she'd been too afraid to ask, too afraid to examine if she'd feel relieved or bereft at the idea that he might call it off.

He didn't. In fact, he said very little—quite unlike himself—until just before the ceremony began.

"This isn't right," he said suddenly as they waited in the hall, causing Sybil's stomach to knot and twist in a way that had nothing to do with the baby.

He turned to her, making eye contact with her for the first time since meeting her in the back alleyway at the hospital.

Sybil forced her face to remain impassive, unwilling to give herself away.

"You look so beautiful Sybil…" he paused, seeming to search for the words, words she expected to politely and kindly inform her he couldn't follow through on this harebrained scheme, couldn't tie himself to her, a relative stranger, and another man's baby.

"Seeing you dressed so fancy, looking so elegant, I…you deserve so much more than to sneak off like a thief in the night. Are you certain you don't mind burning your bridges?"

His comment had been so unexpected it had taken her a moment to realize what he meant.

With a gentle smile she stepped close to him, breathing in the scent of his pomade, and carefully leaned against him, her hand on his arm as she balanced forward on her toes to place a kiss against his cheek.

She began to move away before thinking better of it, enjoying the feeling of his warmth against her, and staying pressed against him she cast him a teasing glance.

"You think me so posh as to give up my promise in five minutes flat?"

He blushed.

Her smile grew.

"I was no more allowed to choose the life I had been born into then you were Tom, and while circumstances may appear as if I have no choice now, that's not true. I took control over the direction of my life when I became a nurse, and I won't relinquish that, not to you, not to my family, not to society's expectations, not even to this baby. I am here, with you, because I chose to be."

She noted the way his shoulders lowered, his face relaxing.

Her face grew solemn, knowing she would have to ask the question she feared.

She wasn't a coward.

"Tom," she began slowly, her tone catching his attention, bringing his eyes back to her. "Are you sure? This has all happened so quickly, and standing here, knowing our lives are about to change forever, it feels so daunting, so tragically big all of a sudden...and, well, I just want to say that if this isn't what you want, if you've changed your mind I understand."

He stood silent for a moment, or a year, Sybil couldn't tell.

"I've not," he answered finally. "Changed my mind that is. I asked and I don't regret it. When I woke up in hospital after the accident I felt angry and alone, but now, waking up there each day is a gift because it means I get to see you. There aren't many as free as you Sybil, so open, so passionate, so full of life. Hearing you speak of going home, thinking of you being caged, ridiculed, scolded, it's not something I can just ignore. I know...I know you don't love me, and to be honest I'm not sure if what I feel for you is love or not, but I do hope that if we give it an honest go that love can grow between us. I have to trust that you feel _something_ for me; if you didn't care you would have told me no straight away. Only I fear one day you may regret your choice._"_

"I've decided to marry you," she answered firmly. "And nothing anyone says or does is going to change that. You say that I'm a free spirit, and I hope that I am, so I hope you grow to trust my decisions. If I wanted a grand wedding I would have forced the baby's father, but what I realized the day you found me in the hospital was that the wedding is inconsequential; it's the man who makes all the difference. And you, Tom Branson, are a good man."

She'd embarrassed him, could tell by the way his ears pinked and his eyes dropped from hers, and with a cheeky grin she again leaned forward, whispering in his ear, "And you look quite handsome in your uniform."

He'd not been allowed to respond, the pair turning suddenly when they heard their names called, but it was decidedly less shaky hands that clasped together as they walked towards their future.

_to be continued_

**_Thank so much for reading!_**


	3. Chapter 3

**A Fool's Errand**

**Part 3**

**By: Piperholmes**

**A/N: Well this chapter didn't get as far as I would have liked (again) but this story is really writing itself so I bow to its control. Another short one, but the next one (hopefully) will be a bit longer. Thank you again for the reviews and support. I admit I get so silly giddy when I read the comments._ You marvelous people are more than I deserve! _(And of course this isn't beta'd.)**

**This chapter is dedicated to pointlessthingsispendmytimeon (Happy Birthday!) and gothamgirl28 (I hope your day got better!). ^_^**

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><p>The sun shown brightly as they stepped out of the government building into the cold January weather. The now complacent, acrid smell of dust and burning assailed their senses but neither commented. The destruction of the great city, the death, the air raids, were a part of life now.<p>

They had adjusted and survived.

As they walked slowly down the street Sybil noted Tom's limp returning, even as he tried to hide it.

"You've walked too much today," she offered quietly, realizing it wasn't just her role as nurse to make such an observation but as wife now.

He shook his head. "It's fine."

He hadn't brought his cane and wordlessly she wrapped her arm through his, subtly taking some of his weight.

"Shall we take a taxi back?"

"Back?"

"To the hospital, I thought…" Sybil trailed off, realizing she'd actually not thought about what would happen next. They were married. It was their wedding night. Did Tom want to…? She felt her cheeks flush.

Tom read her thoughts, his own eyes widening. "No, I just meant that maybe you'd like to eat a meal together or something…if you wanted."

"Oh," Sybil smiled, tension still gripping her body. "Yes, that sounds nice."

"I was thinking a pub, but seeing you now, maybe we could go some where a bit, well a bit nicer?"

Sybil's mind flashed to the ritzy places she'd visited in her youth, the flash and glamour, and wondered what exactly Tom meant by "nicer" but felt foolish and a snob and just nodded. "Of course, what did you have in mind?"

"Well Lyon's Corner House on Coventry hasn't been hit yet," he offered sheepishly.

"Sounds lovely." And it did. Sybil couldn't help the moment of panic as she considered the possibility of someone recognizing her at a more upscale place. She could only assume her family was going to struggle to accept her decisions and she had no desire to risk them finding out through gossip and malicious whisperings. Besides, she liked Lyon's. It was the first restaurant she had ever gone to where she'd paid for her own meal, with her own money.

The walk was longer than she expected and her mind swirled with the silence that had settled between them; where it had once felt easy, now felt stilted. She had a million things to say but could think of none of them.

Except one.

Her wedding night.

The awkward mistake she'd made moments previous replayed, and she realized it was a topic they hadn't discussed.

One of many they hadn't discussed.

She felt her heart race as she rehearsed what she wanted to say, going over the words, trying to find the best way to ask him what she needed to know.

"What is it?" Tom's voice invaded. "You've gone quiet."

"Sorry," she smiled, wanting to put him at ease, wanting to put herself at ease. "It's just a lot to take in."

He nodded, his fringe falling forward making him look younger, too young to be at war.

"Tom," she began slowly, the words she'd rehearsed fleeing the well constructed sentences she'd worked to create, leaving her hesitant. "Earlier when we, when I thought…well I realized we never discussed how married we will be."

She winced at the ridiculous word choice, at her own fears.

Tom's steps slowed but he gave no other indication her words had affected him.

She thought to say more, wanting to fill the silence, she was a nurse after all, she had learned the act of love making was a purely physical act. She couldn't understand her discomfort at speaking of the topic.

She struggled not knowing his thoughts.

Taking a calming breath she waited, squaring her shoulders, taking in her new husband. Seeing the way his fingers absently rubbed together, his lips pressed together, his eyes gazing off into the rubble that surrounded them.

She may not know his thoughts, but she did know his feelings; they mirrored her own. He was as uncertain and confused as she.

He stopped, turning to her, facing her. "I want to have a wife in more than just name Sybil. I'm sorry, I'll not deny it. But I won't ever pressure you. When the time is right, when we both feel ready, we'll take that step."

Carefully his hand moved up, his fingers stroking her cheek. Sybil felt her breathing speed up, her chest rising and falling as he stared into her eyes. He was going to kiss her.

He stepped into her, forcing her neck back so she could look at him, taking in his soft lips and easy gaze. He leaned forward, his breath warm on her skin. She felt her body tense, waiting for the wet onslaught. It never came.

He stopped, just shy of contact, waiting. His thumb continued a gentle stroke, and as they stood together, so close, she found her breath matching his in rhythm.

Slowly in.

Slowly out.

Together.

It was up to her to close the distance, to take that step.

She'd always thought him handsome, but never had she'd really taken him in. She could see the tired smudges around his eyes, the easy lines that creased around them. He smiled a lot, but not recently. The blue of his eyes was clear, almost grey, but they held a passion that burned brightly. She'd never looked to see, but in that moment, as he handed all control to her, she saw him.

And he was beautiful.

"Yes, you may kiss me," she whispered.

Closing her eyes, she tilted her chin upward, meeting his lips in a gentle, soft caress. They lingered over the contact, never truly separating.

Sybil moved, unthinkingly, bringing her own hands up his arms, coming to rest against his shoulders, playing with the material of his uniform, stroking his neck lightly.

She felt him sigh, knew he was enjoying the sensations, and welcomed the renewed touch of his lips against hers. Gradually he increase the pressure, further opening her lips,

This wasn't the staid kiss they'd shared in the registrar's office.

As his tongue met hers, at first fleeting and light, she was surprised to find she enjoyed the sensation, especially when his fingertips moved to her hair, his other arm wrapping around her tightly. It wasn't sloppy and hard. It wasn't at all what she expected, or what she'd previously experienced.

Her own tongue hesitantly moved, darting out to meet his and she felt a thrill as a shiver of pleasure traveled through him.

With renewed vigor his mouth worshipped hers, playfully pushing back, challenging her.

Delight flooded her senses as they sparred, each striving for the upper hand.

In a moment of surrender, his lips fell, is forehead resting against hers, both gasping for air.

"For now," he panted. "God knows it's enough that I can kiss you."

_To be continued._

**Thanks for reading!  
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**I suppose it's time for Sybil and Tom to let their families know the happy news!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A Fool's Errand**

**Part 4**

**By: Piperholmes**

**A/N: All of my thanks and adoration to you, darling readers! Your reviews and comments make my day and a day spent smiling is wonderful. THANK YOU! One day I will write a chapter and get to where I wanted to go, but alas, this is not that day. Another short chapter, but I think I can update faster and more consistently if I write these smaller chapters. So we don't wind up the chapter where I hoped but I should be able to post the next chapter by Friday or Saturday, and hopefully you gals (and guys) aren't getting frustrated. Un'beta'd.**

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><p>Following the kiss in the street, a sort of truce had been reached; a silent agreement that while Tom was still in hospital life would go back to what it had been, as nurse and patient, as friends. As they had eaten their celebratory meal they had discussed the next steps in their plan. Their union and her condition would remain a secret until Sybil handed in her notice. Tom was set to be released from medical care by the end of the next week and had been promised 5 days of leave following that release, but Tom hoped he could get that extended to at least a week in order to travel with Sybil to her family home and see her settled before he had to report.<p>

"My C.O. is a bit of a wank…uh…jerk," he amended quickly, keeping his voice low in the busy eatery. "But he and I have always seemed to get on well enough. When I tell him I've married maybe he'll be willing to give me a few extra days."

Sybil nodded, her own mind spinning with details.

"I know you said you'll be a father to this baby, but—" Sybil struggled to phrase her question. "well, time wise, are you wanting everyone to believe the baby is yours?"

His brow furrowed as he tried to follow her meaning.

Seeing his confusion she explained, "I just want to be clear on what we are telling my family. I don't like deceit and my parents don't deserve it, but I also don't want to borrow trouble. When the baby comes…you have to understand, my family will not merely accept this. Expect to be questioned, particularly by my nosy granny, who lives for intrigue. If she gets a whiff of scandal she'll hunt."

Tom nodded, beginning to understand. "You expect the baby to be born in August?"

"Late July, early August," Sybil confirmed.

"Which means, forgive me for being indelicate, but means your…uh…you," he cleared his throat. "conceived—"

"About a month before I met you," she finished, blushing. "And if we are going to act like the baby is yours something has to be nudged a bit."

Tom thought for a moment. "I don't like the idea of lying either, I am this baby's father but I won't lie to the child, but I also agree that right now it isn't necessary to go about brandishing the details. I have a feeling we're going to be in enough trouble with your family as it is."

Sybil's sympathetic smile did little to calm the rush of feelings. He felt a fresh wave of anger at the man who had so readily and willingly abandoned her and her child.

"I say we keep it all as simple as possible. We can explain that we've known each other for months, which is true, and only if we are pressed will we admit to meeting a month earlier than we actually did. Will that work?"

Sybil nodded slowly.

"I'm sorry to say that your reputation may still suffer considering the date of the birth and the date of the marriage. It's not fair, but I'm afraid if we start weaving a long tale of falsehoods—"

She interrupted him with the wave of a hand.

"I understand." She slowly spun her cup, her food picked at as her stomach still refused to settle. "And what about your people? Will they accept me? The baby? Our marriage?"

It was Tom's turn to feel a bit of discomfort at the mention of his family.

"My siblings will most likely give me a hard time, out of love mostly, but my Ma is another story. She's not too fond of the English. She lost a cousin in the Easter Rising." At Sybil's sympathetic gasp he continued. "He was walking down North King Street one day, and an English soldier saw him and shot him dead. When they asked why he was killed, the officer said because he was 'probably' a rebel."

"That's awful," she said quietly, and Tom felt her sadness at his family's loss to be genuine.

"She's also rather religious. She's not going to be happy about our marriage, and even less so about the baby, but she's a good woman. She'll be upset, with me mostly, but she'll find a way to deal with it. She'll come to love you and the babe," Tom assured, but couldn't resist teasing her. "Eventually."

"Will she love the baby knowing that you're not the natural father?"

Tom paused.

"We won't tell her," he decided finally.

Sybil had accepted his edict, despite the uneasy feeling. It seemed the more they decided, the more questions that arose. Her queasiness returned stronger than ever, causing Tom to note her pale complexion, leading the pair to cut the meal short and grab a taxi back to the hospital.

"I'm so sorry," Sybil offered again, feeling truly crummy.

Tom waved her off. "I've not been married before or a father, but I've plenty of sisters and family to know it's not easy expecting a baby. Promise me you'll get some rest."

She'd nodded, giving him a smile and his hand a squeeze.

"I'm on duty tonight," she whispered as they stood outside the back entrance, hidden in the alley. "I'll…I'll see you tonight I suppose."

It felt so awkward to be discussing her nursing schedule for the night, the first night of their marriage.

"You know where to find me," he said plainly, the twinkle in his eye the only indication of his levity. She could see the tight press of his lips, the grimace in his jaw. His leg must surely be bothering him.

"Go put your leg up," she advised, assuming her no nonsense stance. "I'll go write my family, let them know about us and make arrangements for our visit."

Giving herself a task made it easier to walk away, to not think about how sad she suddenly felt. Just before she turned to leave she impulsively grabbed his hand, giving it a squeeze.

"Thank you Tom Branson," she said quickly.

She made to dash back but was caught by his hold. Carefully, slowly, he turned her hand in his, his long fingers stroking at the skin of her ring finger.

"I'm sorry I've no ring to give you right now."

Sybil shook her head, wanting to assure him it was fine, but he wasn't looking at her and the words couldn't find truth enough to move from her throat. It did matter. She couldn't explain why but part of her longed to see his ring there, to help her feel married, to pull her from the limbo she felt trapped by.

"But my promise is true," he breathed, placing a light kiss where a gold band should sit. "And as soon as I'm able to afford it I'll get a gold band. It will be simple but hard earned."

For a moment she saw her hand, weighted with a large, sparkling ring that women of her class expected and gushed over, and she hated it.

Blinking away the image, she met his blue eyes.

"I will wear it proudly."

_To be continued…_

**Thanks for reading!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A Fool's Errand**

**Part 5**

**By: Piperholmes**

**A/N: A million thanks and hugs and waves and kisses and snuggles and whatever else I can send to you darling readers. Your reviews keep me going! So onward! (As usual not beta'd...in fact wrote this while my daughter did gymnastics so I was half paying attention to wave at her and this so I apologize if this has a few more mistakes than normal).**

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><p>She had left him to make his own way back into the building, keeping her face turned, forcing herself not to look back. When she found herself back in her room in the nurses' dormitory she realized she had no memory of the walk she took to get there. Thoughts of Tom, of her family, of the baby, of her work, of <em>him<em>, filled her mind to the brim.

"You've been gone a while."

Sybil nearly jumped, startled out of her thoughts. Her roommate, Edna, blinked at her expectantly from where she lounged on her bed, reading the latest edition of _Vogue_ that talked about fashion in the New Year; fashion meets war.

"Yes, I met a friend for lunch," she answered, careful to keep her tone light as she played with the necklace around her neck. Sybil and Edna shared a lot of views, but ever since Edna had discovered Sybil's lineage things had felt off, different, more hostile.

"Must've been some toff with you dress up so. Tea with the queen perhaps?"

Sybil was no stranger to calm demeanor. She'd been well taught, well trained, to keep her emotions in check. She had learned the power in silence. She raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, her icy glare enough to send Edna into retreat.

"Your stomach feeling better then?"

Sybil resisted the surprise she felt rush through her, careful to keep control of her features. "I'm sorry?"

"You've been sick the last few days," Edna pointed out. "I was worried you might have caught something. You work so hard, I know you'd never want to complain or miss a shift. I was wondering if I needed to mention it to Nurse Baxter for you."

Sybil wasn't fooled by the sympathetic tone.

"I appreciate the concern," she answered. "But I believe it was just a passing inconvenience."

"Yes," Edna said slowly. "It does seem to come and go."

The threat was clear.

With her shoulders back and spine stiff, Sybil walked to the shared writing desk by the window.

"If you'll excuse me I do need to write my family."

Edna smirked but said nothing, her eyes moving back the material in front of her.

Sybil said nothing more as she removed her hat and coat before sitting in the hard chair. She opened the top drawer, pulling out her monogrammed stationary—a gift from Edith—and her pen.

And she sat.

The expanse of the blank page mocked her.

She couldn't think how to write what needed to be said. She thought of the way her mother would gasp, how her father would rage. How could she tell them what she had done?

Should she open the letter with the new? Perhaps the better idea would be to slowly work towards it.

_I am married._

Her breath caught and suddenly the pen seemed inadequate to the task. It wasn't right. She couldn't do this in a letter.

She wrote her family, telling them she'd be coming to visit soon.

She made no mention of her husband, her baby or her marriage.

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><p>Tom stared at the form, realizing there were questions he didn't have the answers for.<p>

WIFE'S FULL NAME

He'd not thought to ask her middle name. He assumed she had one. Posh people often did. He wrote her first and last name and wondered if it was appropriate to put her title…he'd have to ask her.

WIFE'S BIRTHDAY

He looked up at the waiting lance-corporal.

"Actually, I…uh, I'll take the form with me and turn it back in tomorrow. Thanks."

The young serviceman shrugged; one less form for him to deal with that day.

Tom turned, his thoughts on the piece of paper in his hand and what it meant. He'd been married a day, a full 24 hours, but if war had taught him anything it was that time was finite. If anything should happen to him he needed to be sure Sybil and the baby would be provided for. That meant forms.

Lots of forms.

When he'd mentioned quietly to Sybil last night that he was going to make sure and name her beneficiary she had smiled at him sadly. It seemed so macabre to speak of death so soon after the start of a new life, but that was the way of things. She had fulfilled her duties as nurse, made sure he was comfortable, had his medicine, and is chart was updated, but he had felt her hand on his shoulder as he helped him to settle, lingering, the faintest of pressure, just for him. Her eyes warm as he felt her finger trace the outside of his ear, the most intimate they could be.

"Branson."

Hearing his name brought him short, his body stiffening.

"Sergeant," Tom greeted with a salute.

A nod from his commanding officer and Tom relaxed.

"Did I read this right Branson? You want to extend your leave?"

Tom ignored the abrupt tone. He knew most of the men didn't like the Sergeant, rumors that it was his connection to a duke that had gotten him the ranking position in the RAMC, which meant a lot of men doubted his qualifications, but Tom had never had an issue. He knew the man could rub people the wrong way but Tom had kept his head down, done his duty, and there had been no problem.

"Yes sir," he answered clearly.

"You don't think three months in hospital is enough of a vacation?" The cigarette dangly out of his lips bounced with each word, seeming on the precipitous of falling to the floor at any moment.

Tom tensed. "With respect sir, having my leg nearly blown off hasn't seemed like much of a vacation."

"Well it's good to see you've recovered well enough."

"Yes sir."

"Now, why should I give you time off while other men are being useful to king and country?"

"Actually sir, I wouldn't be asking if it weren't for the fact that I've recently married." Tom paused, allowing the news to sink in. He wasn't expecting any form of congratulations and his suspicions were met when he received no more than a raised eyebrow. "And her family lives up in North Yorkshire, and I've yet to meet them. I was hoping for a few days with them and her before going back."

"The preacher's noose huh?" His sergeant chuckled. "I spent years in that area. Anyone I know?"

Tom hesitated. Sybil wasn't some villager, her family _owned_ a village.

"I'm not sure…"

His words were cut off as the sergeant reached out for the form Tom was holding.

"Let's see…Sybil Crawl—"

Tom felt his stomach drop as recognition flooded his sergeant's eyes.

"You haven't? You haven't married Lady Sybil Crawley?"

Tom couldn't tell if the man was shocked or delighted.

"I have."

"And her family knows this."

The Irishman shifted uncomfortably. "They will soon enough."

A smirk appeared, humorless, menacing. "This was sudden. You've not got her up the duff have you?"

His face gave him away, his cheeks pinked, flushed with indignation and frustration.

"I'm not sure it's any of your business…sir."

But it was too late. The words did little to convince the sergeant.

"Lord Grantham's Irish son-in-law, Irish grandchild, and he has no idea…" the words were said to himself, a noticeable pleasure. He took a long drag on his fag, handing the form back, blowing smoke around them. "Well from what I've heard Lord Grantham is a good man, and a decent employer. Tell you what Branson, I'll see what I can do to get you that extra time off. Consider it a belated wedding present from me to your new family."

With a heavy feeling Tom nodded. It was clear something was off. The sergeant's behavior, his demeanor had shifted so dramatically, his amusement at the situation made him uncomfortable.

"Thank you Sergeant Barrow. I appreciate the help."

With one final smirk he answered, "My pleasure."

_to be continued..._

**Thanks for reading!  
><strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**A Fool's Errand**

**Part 6**

**By: piperholmes**

**A/N: So sorry for the long delay in updates! But this one is twice as long as the others and it's part 1 of a two part update, so maybe that makes up for it a little bit? ^_^ Thank you for the wonderful, sweet and encouraging reviews! As I said this is the first half of the update. This chapter was getting so long and I felt like I was never going to get it done so I broke it up into two. I'm really excited for the next chapter so hopefully it won't take me so long to get it posted. Sorry again! Unbeta'd.  
><strong>

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><p>"Well it seems you're healing up nicely Private," Dr. Turner noted, making quick work of scribbling a few words to Tom's chart. "I will sign off on your release back to the RAMC. Try to stay out of the way of the enemy's artillery this time, eh?"<p>

Tom smiled, grateful for the joke, as morbid as it may seem. The world was slowly imploding and the only recourse was laughter.

"Do you still want him on the daily walk regiment?" Sybil asked.

"I don't think that will be necessary," the doctor answered, eyeing the young nurse. "He's up and about most of the day on his own, no need to force the issue anymore."

Sybil nodded, turning back to smile at Tom.

Despite the pleased look on her face, Tom couldn't help but note how pale she looked, how tired and drawn. He wasn't the only one to take notice.

"I say, are you feeling well Nurse Crawley?"

"Of course doctor," she answered easily, quickly.

The doctor's gaze seemed to linger, a well-trained eye taking in details missed by most. He seemed either to accept her declaration, or decided the topic needed no further exploration in front of another patient, because he said nothing further on the subject.

Instead he instructed, "We will cut Private Branson's pain medicine in half starting today. I'll check back in three days, and we should be able to discontinue all together."

Tom gave an exaggerated groan. "Aw but doc, Nurse Crawley bringing me my meds is the best part of my day."

Dr. Turner smiled. "I have no doubt.

Sybil's stern expression cause Dr. Turner to somber some. "Right, well then, carry on. Nurse Crawley, if I may see you a moment."

Tom watched the pair move away. In the past few months, as he'd come to know Sybil, he'd learned how passionate and open she was, especially when it came to certain causes, politics, or helping others, but he's also learned that even that was controlled. Sybil gave nothing away when she chose; she gave everything away when she chose. Her eyes burned bright as they had sat and discussed the core beliefs of socialism, and how greed bastardized the concepts, turning socialism into a dirty word. Yet he'd met a brick wall when he had asked about her childhood. Of course, this was before he knew who she was, and he understood why she was so hesitant to speak of it, but he remember that at the time he'd been surprised at different she'd been, two Sybils.

Something in her face as she'd turned to follow the doctor had reminded him of that cold, collected Sybil, and he felt a moment of unease. That unease grew as he watched Dr. Turner motion for the Head Nurse to follow him.

Sybil glanced over her shoulder, her eyes catching his, just before the trio stepped out of the busy hospital floor and out into the hall.

Something told him their night on the town was finally catching up to them.

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><p><strong><em>Two Day Ago<em>**

The music blasted around them, making conversation difficult but not impossible, few were interested in talking about anything important so shouting over the music just added to joviality. The war was all around them, but in this small, hot, dance hall (one of the last ones still open at night due to the blackout), it was easy to forget for just a moment and have fun.

Sybil sat with some fellow nurses, slowly spinning her cup of warm, watery lemonade, a smile plastered to her face as she nodded mindlessly to the gossip flying around her. She regretted coming, wishing to be back in the dorms, buried beneath her blankets and blissfully asleep. The symptoms of her pregnancy were going more and more aggressive each day. The smells of the hospital had become so heightened, sending her in a spin of nausea, forcing her to spend the majority of her shift fighting the urge to be sick. By the end of her rounds she was so exhausted she could barely manage much more than a few pages of a book before falling fast asleep, usually sleeping through dinner into the morning where the routine all began again. She didn't even have the energy to care about Edna's knowing smirk or sly comments about girls "being in trouble" these days.

But when Tom had pinched the elbow of her uniform, gently tugging her into a private corner and smiled down at her, asking her if she wanted to join the small group of soldiers and nurses that had invited him to come dancing, she hadn't been able to say no. Who knew how many nights of dancing the war would afford? Not to mention the way Tom had bounced about as if it were Christmas morning as he laughingly promised to keep his hands respectful, but made no promise he wouldn't ask her to dance a hundred danced with him had warmed her, reminding her that she wasn't alone.

But here she sat, while the soldiers all seemed to mill about together by the bar. The two groups had arrived separately, and shy giggles and coy smiles meant it was going to be a long night for Sybil. Her only incentive to stay was the way Tom would catch her eye and smile at her, making his own frustrated expressions. She knew it was silly, but when one is hiding something, even the small seems big, and she feared if she were the first to break ranks, to go ask him to dance then everyone would know. Somehow they would all figure out their secret. Clearly Tom agreed as he impatiently waited for one of his comrades to be brave enough to get the dancing started.

"I think he fancies you."

"What?" asked Sybil, not sure if she'd heard correctly.

Gwen smiled, her cheeks bright pink against her pale complexion, as they always were when she was overheated. "I think he fancies you," she repeated a bit louder, her eyes staring pointedly at Tom, who realized he'd been caught staring and quickly dropped his gaze.

Sybil nearly laughed at his lack of tack before she remembered she was suppose to be embarrassed.

"Oh, do you think?" she asked quickly, hoping her voice portrayed the perfect amount of silliness and excitement.

"I don't think he can keep his eyes of you," Gwen responded, her accent thick. "What you think?"

"Think about what?" Edna interrupted as she returned to the table with her own drink.

"Nothing," Sybil tried but Gwen spoke over her.

"Think about the Private over there that seems sweet on Sybil. Branson I think is his name, pretty banged up in an ambulance accident if I remember correctly," Gwen prattled on.

Edna turned, her eyes bold as she looked Tom up and down, before turning back to the girls at the table, most now very interested in the conversation. "Seems he's healed up nicely," she purred, here eyes looking directly to Sybil now. "He's nice looking, I'll give him that."

The girls at the table made various noises of approval, prompting Sybil's own cheeks to flush. She'd be lying if she said she never considered Tom's looks: his combed dark blonde hair, his clear blue eyes—even the endearing way one was slightly larger than the other—his strong forearms and broad chest. But she's always tried to keep a distance from those thoughts. When Tom had first arrived at the hospital her heart and mind had been in chaos.

But now he was her husband and she could take in the clean line of his jaw, the small cleft in his chin, the soft feel of his skin, and the smooth welcoming touch of his lips.

She had indeed married a handsome man.

It was that last thought that made her feel bold, empowered.

With a sassy grin, one that earned her several whistles of encouragement from her fellow nurses, she stood, her head high and heart pounding, and purposefully made her way across the room, weaving through the other couples as they twirled and jived about.

He saw her coming now, they all did. Some of the other soldiers she knew from the hospital, men who had been under her care at some point, but tonight wasn't about what the war had done to them, so she ignored them, as if she'd never met them, never saw them at their weakest, her eyes on Tom alone.

"Nurse Crawley," he greeted lazily, garnering poorly hid snickers from his bar mates.

Adopting a haughty eyebrow raise that would have made her sister Mary proud, Sybil silenced their laughter with one glare.

"It's just Sybil tonight Private," she spoke, turning back to Tom. "This is hardly the hospital."

"That's true_ Sybil_," Tom answered. "And it's Tom, not Private. And since we're not, as you so wisely pointed out, at the hospital, perhaps we should dance."

"As long as you think you're up for it _Tom_," Sybil teased, catching the way the other men smiled into their beers.

"Oh I'm plenty up Sybil, I assure you."

The men erupted in hoots as Tom pushed away from the bar, taking her hand to lead her on the dance floor.

"You're awful," she laughed.

Tom gave her a pleased smile, his eyebrows wiggling suggestively before he took her into a dance frame, beginning to sway them side to side as they found the beat of the song.

He leaned forward, his lips close to her ear to ensure she could hear him. "Feeling up to a bit of twirling?"

Sybil nodded feeling an excitement that had been absent from her life the last several months. "I can handle it."

"Good, just don't over do it," he warned.

"Really Branson, I thought I gave the orders."

Tom smirked. "As you said, you're not on duty tonight."

Any chance for a response was lost as Tom pushed her away from him before turning and tugging her back, pinning her against his side before pushing her again to reverse the position.

Sybil loved to dance and soon they had found a comfortable lead and follow, being joined on the floor by their friends who had fallen in behind Tom and Sybil's example. This wasn't the type of dance hall Sybil had grown up around, there was no live band or well dressed waiters ready with champagne, but for the first time in months she felt light, free, and more than her situation. She couldn't imagine what she would be feeling right now if it weren't for Tom. Their situation was far from ideal, but the fear of losing her baby, of being completely cast off from her family, fear of providing for her baby, of still agonizing over the father, all that had weighed her down since she first suspected a new life was growing inside her, was gone. Sybil felt like she had cheated fated, had gained the upper hand, and it left her giddy and drunk.

She couldn't help it, when the their third dance ended, both breathing hard and sweaty, her hands cupped his cheeks and she tugged him down, her bright red lips meeting his, hard and pressing, fast and sloppy.

She felt Tom's surprise, his hands shooting up to her shoulder, his back stiff, but he soon calmed his shock and Sybil felt his breath release in a laugh before he renewed the connection, his own mouth responding with equal fervor.

For a moment they felt as any girl and boy; a flirty attraction, young and fun, free to be playful and a little bit silly.

For a moment.

The pair pulled away, breathing hard, hair damp with sweat, smiles spread wide across their faces causing the skin around their eyes to bunch and wrinkle.

"Shall we get a drink?" Tom practically had to shout, the room now louder than ever as the awkward distance from earlier had been cast out; laughter, voices, music all mixed together.

Sybil nodded, her dry throat desperate for relief.

A small group had formed around the bar, a few knowing smirks forming as Tom and Sybil approached hand in hand.

"Ay, Branson," a young soldier called Samson shouted, "this warm piss ain't cuttin' it. There's a pub still open just down the way; a group of us are headin' down there. You two comin'?"

Tom looked to Sybil.

"I could do with a bit of fresh air," Sybil answered and soon the group, minus a few who decided to stay and dance, was out in the cold dark February air, made more frigid by their damp skin.

They moved slowly, lazily, still smiling and laughing as they stepped through the rubble of the great city, the moonlight bright enough to keep them from tripping. It was eerie to see the city so dark—an effort to confuse the Germans—but there was also something peaceful about the stillness.

"You two were getting awfully cozy," Gwen whispered in Sybil's ear, linking their arms with ease.

Sybil's eyes moved to where Tom was walking a few paces ahead of her, the collar of his coat up to keep his ears warm, his hand buried in his pockets but still moving around as he talked excitedly about something with one of his pals.

Sybil just smiled. Now that they had left the dance hall and some of the adrenalin was waning, she felt the exhaustion beginning to push back in.

"Well go on then," Gwen continued happily, "Tell us."

"Not much to tell," Sybil answered, noting the interested Edna had taken in their conversation once again.

"Sure about that?" Edna asked sweetly, her eyes meeting Sybil's, causing an uncomfortable weight to settle.

Gwen, blissfully unaware of the tension between her two friends, kept the conversation going, chatting away delightedly, teasing Sybil about Tom or talking about the handsome Corporal she'd met or getting Edna to laugh as Gwen impersonated the Head Matron.

They didn't get this enough; being young and carefree.

But in the way a tree grows around a fence, they had learned to adapt, to accept what was happening and to live.

They were nearly to the pub when it started.

The screeching of the sirens caused Sybil to jump, startling her. She felt Gwen pull sharply on her arm, swinging her around as the group began to scramble.

"Where do we go?" Gwen asked, nearly keeping the panic from her voice.

Around them the street came to life, the sound of children crying, being awoken from their sleep as families began the routine of preparing to leave homes in search of safety.

Sybil felt herself be pulled from Gwen, her friend's arm soon replaced with her husband's. His hold on her was strong, his face firm as he looked about.

"There's a tube station 'round here, right?" Tom shouted to his mates.

"Yeah, I'm fairly certain," Sampson answered back even as he looked about, turning in all directions.

"Come on," Edna said. "It's this way."

Tom said nothing, offering no words of comfort or cheer, as he held tight to Sybil's arm, guiding her behind Edna's lead.

"Tom," Sybil hissed, tugging back. "I don't want to lose Gwen."

Tom glanced at her, his gaze hard, an expression she mirrored until his shoulders dropped in concession and the pair stopped long enough for Gwen to catch up.

The darkness, which was meant to keep them safe, now proved almost as much an enemy as the Luftwaffe. It was easier to see the debris when moving at a slow, steady pace, but running made it nearly impossible. The group ran as quickly as they could, but was delayed time and again when someone tripped or fell.

Tom refused to let Sybil hit the ground, resulting in her arm being yanked a few times when either he or she would stumble, but she was grateful nonetheless.

A cry from Gwen brought her short, forcing Tom to stop.

"Blast!" Gwen cried, wincing as she tried to pull herself up.

"Gwen," Sybil called, concern for her friend primary.

"I've got her," Sampson said, pulling Gwen to her feet and taking her weight. "Keep moving"

Tom gave his friend a nod but wasted no more time as he propelled Sybil forward.

The air began to rumble, the sky lighting up as anti-aircraft guns began firing off in the distance.

"It's right up here," Edna shouted over her shoulder, moving impressively in her dance heels.

Sybil was grateful the queue to get into the station wasn't too long, and felt herself relax some when a limping Gwen showed up still leaning heavily against Sampson.

Still Tom refused to let her go, tucking her into his side as they made their way down the steps. It was bright in the Underground, especially to their eyes, which had grown accustom to the darkness, but relatively quiet. It was clear that most of the people down there had already bed down for the night, families that spent every night in the Tube as a precaution, so free space was limited, but Tom managed to maneuver them around until he found a space big enough for them to sit. Not far sat Edna, Gwen and Sampson, the rest of their group dispersing and mixing as they found available space.

Gwen was far enough away that Sybil had to speak up to be heard. "Alright Gwen?"

"Sure, just a twist I think." The redhead called back.

"I'll be the judge of that." Sybil heard Edna say and watched as the fellow nurse tended to Gwen's ankle.

"She's a harsh one," Tom said, there distance proving enough of a buffer that he wasn't heard to anyone but Sybil.

Sybil only shrugged. "She can be a bit intense, but I don't think she's had an easy go of it. She's a good nurse though. Very determined. She's a hard task master, won't accept no for an answer, but it works, it gets the soldiers back on their feet."

A loud booming sounded, one they felt in their bones, and Sybil couldn't help but grip tighter to Tom.

He responded in kind, settling against the hard brick wall, bringing her to sit beside him, fingers entwined as they held hands.

"This didn't turn out quite the way I planned," Tom admitted sadly.

"War has a funny way of messing with things," Sybil answered.

Tom gave a sardonic snort.

Another boom sounded.

Sybil sighed. "Now we wait."

"Now we wait," Tom parroted.

_to be continued..._

**Thanks for reading!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A Fool's Errand**

**Part 7**

**A/N: Thank you a million times over for the reviews and continued support. It truly means so much to me! Once again I didn't get as far into this chapter as I originally planned, so we'll be spending one more chapter underground, but some times a chapter comes to the perfect point for a break and that happened here. But I also have the next chapter almost written because it is a conversation I wrote several weeks ago, so I should have the next chapter up soon. Unbeta'd. **

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><p>It should have been odd that Tom could<em> feel<em> the quiet.

Except it was a situation he was now more familiar with than any man should be.

It was the quiet that followed the deafening.

The tube was near silent as most people had settle down following the shaking power of the bombs.

He could hear a mother trying to calm a whimpering baby, the hard curling of air as a few deep sleepers snored through the night, and the soft murmuring of those left awake.

Sybil was not to be counted among them.

Almost as soon as they'd planted themselves down she'd been unable to hide the yawns.

"Tired?" he'd asked stupidly, but unable to think of anything else to say.

Sybil had blushed. "All the time it seems."

Tom had nodded. He didn't know a lot about pregnancy, but he'd learned enough from his sisters to know it could leave the mother tired and sick.

"Come 'ere," he'd whispered, pulling her gently to him.

She'd come willingly, the night's exertions catching up to her as the adrenaline started to recede, her head coming to rest against his shoulder as he wrapped her up in his coat, his arms doing their best to keep them both warm.

Tom glanced down at her now; her sleeping form snuggled even further into him, her arm having come to rest on his chest near her chin. Even in the dim light he could see the smooth skin of her face, cheeks pink from sleep, and had to resist the urge to run his finger along their curves. It'd been a long time since he'd held a woman like this, since he'd felt the stirrings of emotions that came from such intimate contact.

She smelled lovely, the clean scent of fresh laundry and the crisp smell of lingering winter air.

As Tom gazed at her, learning each line, each mark, the shape of her nose, the fullness of her lips, he felt a tenderness well, bringing a small smile to his own lips. The feeling of her against him, her belly pushing and retreating with each breath made him feel safe and contented.

And it scared him.

He'd originally proposed this mad idea because he had accepted his chances of surviving the war were minimal. He'd carried too many boys to their graves in the back of his ambulance to believe that anyone was safe.

He'd cheated death once and knew it was unlikely he'd be granted such a reprieve again.

That realization, that he was already dead, had freed him from the fear. It had left him angry but he could finally sleep at night.

But now, now there was her.

And suddenly that fear had returned.

He couldn't see her body under the bulkiness of his coat, but he could feel her waist under his hand and believed he could feel how it had thickened some. Since learning about the baby he'd tried to watch for signs of the growing life with a feeling of anticipation he'd thought the war had long since killed. He'd not thought about the baby, at least not in a way that felt real to him, but it was always there, the knowledge that he was going to be a father. Even as they sat there, praying a direct hit wouldn't end their lives, a tiny baby was forming. A baby he was now responsible for.

He had a life to look forward to suddenly, and a war that took without prejudice.

Tom shifted slightly, his back beginning to ache and his bottom, long since numb, was in desperate need of resituating, but he was too worried he'd wake her.

"You two look nice and comfy," a voice spoke, surprising him from his thoughts.

Tom jumped, jerking slightly, as he turned to the woman who had invaded his quiet moment.

"Shh," he tried, but Sybil was already stirring.

"Sorry," Edna said, and Tom couldn't quite tell if she was sincere.

Sybil gave a small groan before stretching, pressing further into him.

"What time is it?" she croaked, her voice raspier than he'd ever heard it.

Tom helped her sit up before squinting at the watch on his wrist.

"Nearly 3:00," he answered.

"In the morning?" Sybil cried in that silly way that sleep left people a bit dumb.

She blushed at Edna's snicker. "Sorry," she mumbled, "of course it's in the morning."

Tom gave Edna a glare even as he spoke to Sybil. "It's fine. We're all a bit disoriented down here."

"Is everything alright?" Sybil asked Edna, forcing herself to awaken fully.

"Just needed to stretch my legs a bit," came her reply. "Gwen and Sampson are still talking, but I'm pretty sure most everyone else is asleep."

Sybil nodded, but Tom felt her go stiff, her eyes closing.

"Sybil?"

She didn't answer him, just forced a few deep breathes in and out slowly.

She made a noise of distress, the back of her hand coming to her mouth, pressing. She shifted further away from him, rising to her knees.

"Sybil?" This time it was Edna, coming to kneel in front of her.

"I'm going to be sick," she whispered.

Edna nodded, immediately taking Sybil by the elbows and helping her to her feet.

Tom scrambled up, desperate to help, but Edna shook her head at him as she began guiding Sybil to where one of the iron buckets had been set up.

The smell was enough to push Sybil over the edge and she was immediately sick.

Edna soothed her, doing her best to keep Sybil clean, until the young nurse finally collapsed back.

"Oh Sybil," Edna breathed sadly, using the sleeve of her coat to wipe her roommate's face free of the snot and tears.

Sybil didn't answer, all her energy focused on not being sick again, trying vainly to calm her queasy stomach.

"Are you going to be sick again?" Edna asked, her role as nurse now fully assumed.

Sybil whimpered. "I think if I stay here I will," she said quietly, nearly gagging from the smell.

Edna moved to help Sybil back to her feet, startled when she felt her weight leave suddenly, looking up to see Branson pulling Sybil up from the floor.

The concern on his face, the fear, brought her up short, and Edna knew.

Her eyes met Tom's and in silence her question was asked and answered.

"Please—" Tom began but Edna cut him off with a wave.

"We need to get her resting," she told him, turning to Sybil. "Strong enough to walk?"

Sybil nodded, ever resolute, but Tom didn't care for her answer, immediately scooping her up in his arms.

"Tom," Sybil tried, but her words fell on deaf ears, and she wasn't inclined to make too much of a fuss.

Quietly he carried her back to where they had been sitting.

"Everything alright?" Gwen called out, still trying to be quiet, her voice a harsh whisper.

"Too much hot lemonade and twirling about I suspect," Edna answered back before turning to the pair. In a softer voice she spoke directly to Tom. "There's not much we can do right now. Let her lie down, get her comfortable, I'll go see if I can find someone with a bit of water."

Tom nodded, lowering Sybil to her feet.

"Edna," Sybil spoke suddenly, her voice hoarse. "Thank you."

The blonde woman pursed her lips together as she eyed them for a moment.

"Of course." She waved off the appreciation, she was a nurse, it was who she was. She moved to walk away before seeming to thing twice, pausing in thought, before turning back to them. "Look, I know it's none of my business, but is Branson the father?"

Tom and Sybil looked at each other. She felt tense, uncertain.

Being questioned, having to face the answer made her heart pound. She felt her life hinged on what happened next, only she couldn't bring herself to say the words. It seemed wrong, as if she was stealing his last chance to walk away.

He stared back at her, his own surprise showing. They had planned it all out. They were supposed to be in control, but Edna's question wasn't in the plan. To be able to say he could live the lie was easy, but now he had to prove he could do it.

Sybil opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

"I am."

His voice was steadier than he thought it would be, his eyes still on Sybil's face, knowing immediately he could live the lie for her as her face crumpled into a watery smile.

And with those two words he was a father. He would do what it took to protect his family.

The moment was broken as Sybil groaned again; her lips pressed together, her color fading.

"I need to lie down," she pleaded.

Edna's own lips had pressed so tightly together they nearly disappeared. Her disapproval was clear, her sigh communication enough, but she kept her words limited. "I'll leave you to help her. I'll be back as soon as I find anything that will help."

Tom mindlessly nodded, his attention on Sybil as he lowered her to the cold, hard ground.

"I don't have anything for you to rest on," he said sadly.

Sybil smiled at him. "You were doing a fine job earlier."

Tom moved quickly, resuming his spot against the wall, his arms opened to allow her to again find perch against his body.

This time she allowed her head to rest more fully on his chest trying to get comfortable. It took some shifting, Tom coming to lie fully on the floor, his arm a pillow, but they both finally found a position that accommodated their needs.

"Sorry to be a nuisance," Sybil whispered into the buttons of his uniform before breathing deeply, once again fighting a wave of nausea.

"You're not," he assured. "I wish there was something I could do."

Sybil's arm moved to hug his waist. "Just be here," she answered, before joking, "We can just lie back and look at the stars."

Tom chuckled as he stared up at the concrete ceiling. "You are rather romantic Mrs. Branson."

Her body tensed, the fingers that had been toying with one of his belt loops froze.

"Sorry," he mumbled, suddenly embarrassed by his comment.

"No," Sybil said firmly. "I just…it's still so unfamiliar to hear."

They lay quiet for a moment, so intimately entwined, but their minds miles apart.

"I wanted to thank you for answering Edna," she finally offered, her voice stilted.

Tom nodded before realizing she couldn't see him. "No thanks needed."

"I disagree. It felt more awkward than I anticipated, and I wouldn't have blamed you if you changed your mind."

Tom chose his words carefully. "I admit, it was a bit harder than I thought it would be."

She didn't respond right away, and Tom watched as her hand moved again to play with one of his buttons.

"But you don't regret it?" Her question was quiet, hesitant, poignant.

Tom moved his arm so his hand could move to her hair, slowly stroking her dark mane, remembering the comfort his mam had given him when he was sick or sad or worried.

"No, never."

He felt her relax, her cheek press into his chest as she smiled, and he could only smile in return.

_to be continued..._

**Thanks for reading!  
><strong>


	8. Chapter 8

**A Fool's Errand**

**Part 8**

**A/N: I'm going to stop staying that I'll have the next chapter up soon, and then maybe I might actually have the next chapter up soon! Sorry for the delay. As I was writing this chapter, the dialog I had previously written suddenly didn't fit and Tom and Sybil decided they wanted to discuss something different, so what I had written will be used later. But you readers are darling and each review is special to me and I appreciate those who take the time to share their thoughts! This chapter is unbeta'd.**

**Dedicated to _everyhazyday_ as an extremely late birthday present! (And Taylor, your birthday present is the next chapter, which I would like to say will be posted soon, but I'm not saying that anymore ;)**

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><p>Edna returned shortly, handing Sybil a cup of tepid water and a few dry biscuits.<p>

"It's not much but it will at least help wet your throat."

Sybil smiled at her, sitting up and sipping the water carefully. She eyed the biscuits suspiciously, her stomach still rolling.

"Try a few nibbles," Edna advised. "Nothing too much, just a little bit every now and again."

Sybil nodded, again thanking Edna.

The blonde woman just shook her head. "You two…you know you can't keep working at the hospital."

"I know," Sybil replied, her voice tight. "And as soon as everything is settled then I am resigning and heading home."

"The princess returns to the castle," Edna said wryly. "With her pauper in tow?"

Tom stiffened. "With her _husband_."

"Husband?" Edna parroted, her surprise clear.

"Yes." Sybil's answer was simple, firm.

"I don't see a ring on your finger."

"Well, we're not telling anyone yet." Sybil was growing tired of the questions, that natural irritation when someone is pressing for answers she wasn't ready to give.

The trio grew silent, too many questions and thoughts battling for dominance.

"Are you ashamed?" Edna asked suddenly, looking sharply at Sybil. "Is that why you're keeping it a secret. You're ashamed of who he is."

"No!" Sybil cried louder than she intended, the word echoing around them. "No," she repeated softer. "I don't care about all that."

"I imagine your family does," Edna laughed. Her eyebrow went up as she watched Sybil shift uncomfortably, clear that her observation had hit a little too close to the mark.

Tom's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing, figuring Sybil knew how to handle herself.

"Please, Edna, will you promise not to tell?"

"Oh Sybil. This isn't fairyland. You can't run about the hospital pretending not to be pregnant. There's a war on. What if there's an emergency and you're too sick to be of any help? What if the hospital gets bombed? Or you have to catch a falling soldier? You're risking your life and the baby's. What are you going to do? Do you even know?"

"Yes, we do have a plan," Sybil insisted. "Tom's got some leave after he's released from hospital in the next week or so. I'll stay until then. But after that we'll got to Downton."

Again Edna just shook her head, a heavy sigh expelled from her lungs, causing her shoulders to sag. "Never mind," she shrugged. "I suppose it'll all work out. It often does for your kind."

Sybil blushed. She'd spent her entire life being pampered and coddled. It wasn't until the war began that she received her first real lesson in what it meant to have trials. She'd lost friends, young men who'd danced with her, held her hand, laughed with her. She couldn't just sit by and watch them sacrifice. Her time at the training college had shown her just how privileged and protected she'd been for the first two decades of her life.

And yet she had worked hard to earn her place, to prove to those around her that she was there by her merits and not her pedigree. She owed Edna no justification. "Then you'll keep our secret?"

"Well, I won't betray you on one condition: you must promise not to do anything stupid."

Sybil's eyes fell to the floor.

"You must promise now," Edna pressed. "Or I'll tell first thing. If you feel too sick to work, you won't. You'll avoid emergency situations and you will not, under any circumstances, assist any soldier with mobility issues by yourself. Promise?"

Sybil opened her mouth to argue, but the severe look in Edna's eyes curtailed her indignation. "I promise."

Edna's nod was quick and hard, like a mother fed up with a child. "Now we should all try and get some rest. The sun will be up soon and if the city is still there then I'd imagine we've got a load of work ahead of us. The dying don't care if we've had a good night's sleep."

There was no arguing with Nurse Braithwaite when she gave orders and before either Sybil or Tom could say anything she was back on her feet, returning to where she had left Gwen and Sampson.

It was completely quiet now and Tom felt a bit of shiver go through Sybil.

Without thought he pulled her tighter against him, tucking his coat around her, trying to ensure her warmth.

"I'm alright," she said softly, moving so her chin settled against his chest, allowing her to look at him as she used him to prop her head up.

Tom frowned at her.

"What?"

"Edna's right, I never thought that you or the baby could come to harm. I mean I know that this is war and a bomb could drop on us at anytime…" The macabre thought giving him pause. "I don't think you should wait. What's a few more days going to mean? It's safer out of London."

Sybil's brow lowered in the way he'd seen before when she'd caught him walking without his cane. The heel of her hand dug into his chest as she pushed off of him to sit up.

"I beg your pardon," Her words polite, her tone cold.

"I only meant—"

"You meant to tell me how to take care of my baby," Sybil accused. "Plenty of women have stayed in London, plenty of mothers. I didn't become a nurse just so I could run when faced with danger."

The flash of fire in her eyes put Tom on his guard.

"You're being unreasonable. Plenty of women have sent their children out to the country as well and no one is accusing them of running," he countered. "And you said yourself I'll only be in hospital until next week, why risk it?"

"It's not a risk," Sybil insisted. "It's my work."

"_Your _work? They've got plenty of nurses Sybil; it's not as if it's going to fall apart without you."

Tom could only watch as her eyes lowered, trying to hide the hurt he'd seen there just before they dropped. He regretted his choice of words, his frustration preventing him from seeing the real reason behind her anger.

"Sybil—"

She cut him off with a wave of her hand, turning from him, her once perfectly curled and coifed hair now a mess of spirals and fly-aways, reminding Tom of his sisters and how their mam would huff and fuss over how wild their hair would be by the end of the day. It had never made much sense to Tom, they had spent the day playing, just as he did, and yet they were subjected to their mother's grumblings.

He sat up too, scooting along the hard floor. He hesitated, wondering if perhaps he simply should apologize and give her space, but there was a need in him to find assurance, to connect with her even as she distanced herself. Carefully he reached out, his hand cupping her elbow, giving enough pressure to let her know he was coming closer. He felt her stiffen but made no other objection, waiting quietly as he moved close enough to press his chest again her back.

He lips hovered near her ear, allowing his words the intimacy of a lover's repentance. "I'm sorry," he spoke softly. "I spoke hastily. I wish I could tell you that's a rare occurrence but I'm afraid it's a flaw I've been accused of more than once in my life."

He could see her jaw working as she swallowed, her posture still rigid and unforgiving.

"You did marry an Irishman," he pointed out, working to keep his tone light, to let her in on the joke.

Her head tilted some, allowing him to see enough of her face to recognize the difference in their upbringings. He'd seen that face before; indifferent. It was a look that had been directed at him more often then he'd wished to admit to by people of status.

"I was harsh," he offered. "To speak slightly of your work. I'd no right to do that."

"No you didn't," Sybil spoke, her voice sharp, but Tom could see her relax some.

Tom pressed on. "It's just that when I look at you, not being sure what's going on in your head, what you're thinking, what we're doing, I act rashly. I don't know what I'm doing here Sybil. I've never done this before."

Sybil's response was immediate, her head whipping around to look at him directly, her eyes wide with realization.

"Of course," she whispered. "I'm sorry. I'm being unfair. You've made a huge sacrifice for me and I'm acting like a spoiled—"

"No," Tom interrupted abruptly. "No, that's not—I don't want your gratitude Sybil. I don't want you to feel like you are forever indebted to me. Just help me understand. I want this to work, but sometimes you just go cold one me, as if I'm not worth your time."

Sybil began to look away from him, but he saw the subtle shift as she refused to give into the temptation, her eyes again coming to meet his. "You're right. I'm afraid I learned very early on that an Earl's daughter is always in control of her emotions, and when I feel upset I've found that going quiet keeps me from expressing how I feel."

Tom listened, surprised by her confession. He'd been raised to in a classist system he despised, and it was easier to hate those at the top when he didn't know any of them, but hearing Sybil discuss her life inspired feelings of sympathy he wasn't quite certain he was interested in experiencing.

A silence hovered between them as a rain cloud not ready to release it's shower, and Tom could sense her desire to speak further, but perhaps inexperience keeping the words at bay.

"Then tell me," he prompted. "I know my words weren't exactly kind, but help me understand why they upset you so."

Sybil's sigh was enough to communicate surrender, and remind Tom the early hour and long night. By quiet, mutual consent, the pair moved together, resituating as they again found a comfortable way to lie down and press together under his coat.

"When the war started I thought surely it wouldn't last long," Sybil confessed once they had settled. "My father seemed more concerned with his position in the military than the actual war and I just assumed that meant there wasn't much call for panic. But I was wrong, and each letter that came with another name of a friend who'd been killed, or lost, or wounded showed me what a fool I'd been to ever believe war was a simple thing."

Tom gave a sad smile of understanding before he remembered she wasn't looking at him, her gaze off in the distance as her cheek pressed against his heartbeat.

"I don't know if anyone can understand what war means until they've experienced it," he offered, wanting her to know she hadn't been alone in her naïveté. "I knew I'd see men die, see the horrors that came with men shooting at each other, but it's so much more than that. I didn't understand how it would feel to be standing next to the guy who took a bullet to the neck and trying to decide if he's the lucky one or if I am. Or when—"

Abruptly Tom stopped, taking a deep breath.

"Never mind," he picked up immediately. "Sorry. I didn't mean to blather on."

Sybil's head moved, allowing her to look up at him. "No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to remind you…" He saw her hesitate. "I'm happy to listen."

Tom's smile grew genuine. "Another time. Right now I want to hear more about you."

She looked as if she would argue but instead turned her head back down, resting against him. "His name was Tom too."

Her sudden declaration puzzled him, forcing him to try and work out her meaning and for a moment he felt a sick weight as his mind forced him to wonder about the baby's father. Had his name been Tom? The weight in his stomach twisted.

"Tom Bellasis," she continued unaware of the emotions playing within Tom. "I remember opening the letter from his cousin Imogene telling me that he'd been killed. All the boys were important to me, but I confess that I'd harbored a bit of a tendre for Tom. He could always make me laugh, even at the most inappropriate times."

The relief Tom felt when he realized this Tom Bellasis wasn't the father was short-lived, as the ever present shackle of guilt rattled in his ears. Another man dead, a man he'd been jealous of.

"His death hit me the hardest. I couldn't sit by and do nothing. I felt so useless wasting my life while they sacrificed theirs. I wanted to do a real job, _real_ work."

"So you became a nurse," Tom finished, beginning to understand.

"If only it'd been that easy," Sybil scoffed. "My cousin, who'd served as a nurse during World War 1 and for her husband who'd been a doctor, knew she could get me a place at a training college in York but my parents weren't thrilled with the idea and I had to fight to go."

Tom could see it, could see a fiery Sybil refusing to back down.

"And it was hard, something of a rough awakening if I'm honest, but I felt useful for the first time in my life." She paused and Tom felt the heavy press of the silence and without thinking he took her hand in his, interlacing their fingers, hoping to return the feeling of comfort he'd experienced at her touch.

"I'm not ready to lose that," she whispered. "I'd don't know when, if ever, I'll be able to nurse again and I'm not ready to say goodbye yet."

And he understood. It was his sisters' hair all over again. Once again the faceless shadow of a man haunted his thoughts; a man who'd had his fun and left Sybil to deal with the consequences. She feared the life she loved was over forever while this man was free of all responsibility. She was wearing the burden of this alone by virtue of her womanhood.

He didn't know how to make it right, but it was time to try.

"I know it's not an ideal answer, but if you want to return to nursing after the baby is born, I won't stand in your way."

He heard Sybil scoff before she gave a small groan of discomfort. "Would you pass me a biscuit please?"

He did as requested, watching as she nibbled the brittle food, crumbs falling onto his uniform before she blew them away.

"I mean it Sybil," he continued. "If it's that important to you, it's important to me."

"And damn what everyone else says?" Sybil asked, a hint of laughter in her tone.

"We make our own choices Sybil," he said simply. "Life has consequences but things are changing. When the war is over, the world won't be the same place as it was when it started. They can't keep women, mothers, out of the work place."

Sybil made no reply at first but he could see enough of her face to see the wrinkles around her eyes as she smiled.

"My family is going to love you," she finally said, her dry tone leaving no room to doubt the irony of her words. "Especially Granny. One whiff of reform and she hears the rattle of the guillotine."

Tom's eyebrow went up at the idea of such a reaction from a member of the aristocracy, and he'd be lying if he wasn't a wee bit pleased by the image.

"What did they say when you told them you'd married a lowly Irish soldier?"

Her silence had his brow scrunching up. "Sybil?"

She sighed. "Tom, there's something you ought to know."

Lifting her head to look him directly in the eye she continued, "I've not actually told them yet."

He wasn't sure if it was the stress of the situation, the late hour, the exhaustion, or the overall ridiculousness of the situation, but her words inspired a deep chuckle to begin in his belly, causing his body to shake as he did his best to squash the instinct to laugh at her out right.

For her part she could only stare at him, her eyes wide. "Why are you smiling? I'd thought you'd be angry."

"Because, I've not yet worked up the courage to tell my mother either."

At his confession the laughter found its escape, a high airy sound that tickled Sybil, infecting her, causing her to answer with her own amusement, and the pair worked to stifle the ruckus, which only made it all the more hilarious and more difficult.

Tom sobered when Sybil sat up quickly, her hand to her mouth, the other pressed against her stomach, and he feared she was going to be sick again. He sat silent, useless, as he watched her close her eyes and force slow deep breaths, in and out, in and out, in and out.

Eventually he saw her shoulders relax and her eyes blink open.

"Alright?" he asked stupidly.

Sybil nodded, but he noted how carefully she moved, how gently, and again they reclined together.

"Sleep now," he suggested quietly before promising. "I'll watch over you."

Caught unaware by her sudden movement, he was frozen in place as she pressed her lips against his neck, the soft smack of sound echoing in his ears as she just as quickly settled back down, and was soon fast asleep.

A small smile spread slowly across his face. He rather enjoyed his wife's propensity for little kisses.

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><p>Sybil tried not to fidget as she sat in Nurse Doyle's office. Dr. Turner had given her an encouraging nod before he and the head nurse had stepped out, leaving her alone with her thoughts.<p>

Since the night spent in the tube two days ago, Edna had said very little to her, but she seemed to always be there, hovering, and Sybil had felt the pressure of her gaze.

Now as she looked around the drab brown office she felt her heart race. She wasn't ready. She wasn't ready to lose this. She wasn't ready to face the reality of being a mother.

Ever since Tom's wild proposal she hadn't allowed her mind to think about anything more than living her life moment to moment. She'd refused to think of the man she had loved, the man who had humiliated her and left her alone, the man who had broken her heart. The day she accepted Tom, she forced herself to put him from her mind. It was taking all her energy to swallow down her feelings, and going home to Downton meant going back to a life she didn't want. At least at the hospital she was so busy she didn't have time to wallow.

She smiled brightly as the door opened, hoping the fear and uncertainty her thoughts caused were well hidden.

Nurse Doyle didn't return her smile, but Sybil could see her normally razor sharp gaze had softened some. Dr. Turner took the empty seat behind Nurse Doyle's desk, leaving the older nurse to stand behind him, the pair staring straight at Sybil.

"Nurse Crawley," the doctor began, leaning forward, his clasped hands coming to rest on the desk, his wide shoulders consuming the space. "I'm terribly sorry to be so blunt, and I do apologize ahead of time for any offense my question may cause, but Nurse Doyle and I agree that we've no time to waste these days."

Sybil's cheek twitched as she strained to keep her smile in place.

"You see," he continued when she made no reply, "we've been informed that one of the nurses here at the hospital is pregnant and I'm afraid I must ask, is it you?"

_to_ _be continued_

**_Thanks for reading!_ **


	9. Chapter 9

**A Fool's Errand**

**Part 9**

**A/N: No, your eyes doth not deceive you. It's been 13 months but this is an actual update. Unbeta'd.**

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><p>"<em>You do love me don't you?"<em>

_Her eyes grew wide at his sad question. "What? Of course I do. How can you even ask that?"_

_He shrugged. "I don't know."_

_She waited for him to continue, but hoping his inquiry was at an end. The night was growing darker and her day had already been long._

"_I'm leaving tomorrow."_

_She couldn't hide her gasp. "Tomorrow? Why didn't you tell me?"_

_Again he just shrugged, his gaze foggy and distracted._

_Her brow lowered in frustration._

_Then, suddenly, he turned to her, all traces of quiet discontent gone, and his smile big. "Don't fret now Sybil. I'm off to join the Mediterranean Fleet! I get to see the world and Old Adolf is paying the bill."_

_She scoffed at him. "How can you say such a thing?"_

_He laughed, the sound brittle and hollow. "You and I, we've been together quite a long time."_

"_Yes," she said slowly, disconcerted by his change of topic. _

"_We were practically children when we started going steady, and now I'm off to war and you're a nurse." He paused, seeming to roll the words around in his mouth as he would a hard piece of peppermint. "We grew up." _

"_I guess so," she answered. _

_He continued as if she hadn't spoken. "But most of the time it feels like we are just playing pretend, like we are playing this grand joke on the world. They think us old enough to go fight a war, to go kill people, to die, and I haven't even slept with a woman yet."_

_His tone was so light, so indifferent that Sybil couldn't even muster up a blush._

"_We'll get married of course," he went on. "When I get back—_if_ I get back. Won't we?"_

_She frowned. "Are you proposing?"_

_She feared he might shrug again, but instead he swept off his hat and knelt at her feet._

"_Yes indeed, Lady Sybil Crawley, will you make me the happiest man on earth and agree to become my wife?"_

_She had to laugh at his theatrics and the ridiculousness of it all. "Are you in earnest?"_

"_I'd best be," he said, his response only seeming to confuse her more. _

_She looked at him thoughtfully, took in the boyish grin, the curly hair, blue eyes she'd known for so very long._

_She must love him after such a long time._

"_Yes, _when_ you return I'll marry you," she finally replied._

_He stood quickly, wrapping her in his arms, holding her tightly, dancing them side to side before dropping a quick kiss to her lips, his hand sliding down her arm to tug her towards the bedroom of his flat._

_She hesitated. _

_His eyes held hers and she knew she was already lost. He was to be her husband and he was afraid. _

_She would give him tonight._

"How could you?" Sybil breathed angrily as she stormed into the dormitory.

Her body shook with the anger of betrayal and humiliation.

"You promised. You promised you wouldn't tell."

Edna looked up from where she was hanging her freshly laundered uniform, her face a mockery of indifference. "I changed my mind."

Sybil felt something snap in her, something that had been stretched so tightly, pulled so taut that everything within her felt the ricochet of release as her frustration, anger, hurt and fear found a target.

"You _changed_ your mind? That is the answer I get? That you've changed your mind?" her chest began to heave with fury. "I trusted you. I believed you. I know we haven't always gotten along but I at least respect you and would never, _never_, have betrayed you as you have me."

Something flashed in Edna's eyes, but Sybil was too irate to care. Her world was slipping away from her, spinning out of her grasp, and she felt the same panic she'd once felt when she'd gone against her father's edict to not ride his new Arabian without his supervision, and Sybil, perfectly convinced of her own skill, decided it was too beautiful an animal for her to wait to ride, but while the horse had been trained, he was temperamental, and as she had kicked him into motion he had set off like a shot, surprising the young girl and causing her to lose the grip on the reigns. As the horse had pounded the ground, her heart had matched his speed and all she could do was cling to his mane desperately to keep from hitting the ground and being trampled. Mere moments had passed, though it felt a great deal longer, before she was able to calm herself, collect her wits and remember her own training, and finally stop the horse, but she had never forgotten the feeling of total loss of control and how scared she had been.

"I can't do this now," she snapped. "I shouldn't have come to talk to you until I've calmed down."

She gave Edna no time to respond before she turned and slammed back out as swiftly as she'd arrived. She didn't really know where she was going, the kind of dismal rage that left a person listless and bewildered pumped through her. She just was walking, the encounter in Dr. Turner's office playing over and over again in her mind.

"_Nurse Crawley, I'm terribly sorry to be so blunt, and I do apologize ahead of time for any offense my question may cause, but Nurse Doyle and I agree that we've no time to waste these days. You see, we've been informed that one of the nurses here at the hospital is pregnant and I'm afraid I must ask, is it you?"_

Oh how she wanted to lie, to deny it and simply stand up and walk out, leaving the doctor and nurse to feel embarrassed by their impertinence, but it was she whose cheeks had flushed pink, mortified by the reality that she would have to answer yes.

"_While we appreciate and recognize your skill as a nurse, I'm afraid the rules are quite clear. We cannot have an expectant mother working here."_

She didn't exactly remember what she'd said. She'd nodded in understanding, believed she'd thanked them both. Dr. Tuner had asked after her health and Nurse Doyle had verified that Sybil had somewhere to go, to which Sybil had again nodded, mumbled something about going home.

"_Are you…" Dr. Turner had hedged gently, "alone?"_

_She frowned at him, still trying to come to grips with her dismissal._

"_The father-?"_

"_Oh," she breathed, "Yes, I mean to say, I am not alone. That's one of the reasons I hadn't told anyone just yet, you see, my h—husband, he is still at the hospital recovering."_

_She heard Nurse Doyle's quick intake of breath. "I didn't realize you had married a patient."_

"_Yes, actually the young private you were just examining Dr. Turner, with the healing leg."_

"_Branson?" _

_She nodded. "I was going to tell you about the baby and resign my post, but we were waiting until he had been discharged. I don't suppose—"_

_She let the sentence hang, not sure if it was worth asking. _

_Nurse Doyle roughly shook her head. "I am sorry Nurse Craw—uh Branson, but even though I sympathize with your situation, the rules are very clear. We cannot keep you on staff knowing of your condition."_

_Again, she could only nod, a flower bowing to the wind of change._

"_I'm sure it would be no problem to allow you to stay in the dormitory for the duration of Private Branson's recovery," Dr. Turner interjected, pointedly ignoring Nurse Doyle's eye. "He's only here a few more days."_

_Some of the stiffness left Doyle's body in acquiesce. _

"_Th-thank you," Sybil stammer. "I will discuss it with my husband."_

_She stood, no longer able to just sit, needing to release her frustration, and left with the grace of a countess._

She stormed down the halls of the hospital, her feet pounding like a raging bull. It was an unfortunate turn of events that Sybil should run into Tom.

"Hello," he greeted her happily, unaware of the hornets nest he was stepping into. "Great news from Dr. Turner today right?

"What?" she scoffed, her face flushed.

"My leg," he answered, his eyes narrowing, finally taking in her high color, harsh breathing and tight lips. "What's happened?"

"Oh, your leg, yes great news. You'll be up and about in no time and then you can leave me too."

She was being unfair. She knew it. But anger and loss makes one indifferent to reason.

"What—"

"Oh what does it matter?" she barked, barreling over his words. "No one keeps their promises these days. I'm sure you'd rather go off to war than to deal with a wife you barely know and a child that's not yours."

"Rather go off to war?" he ground out angrily, his tone catching her up short. His face hardened. "Let's get one thing quite clear, Lady Sybil, going back to war is the last thing I want. I am not ashamed to admit I don't want to die, and I've had my fill of the sight of dead boys and their guts spread all over my ambulance."

She winced. "Tom—"

"But I have to go because I made a commitment, and _I_ don't renege on a commitment. I'm not him Sybil."

He brushed passed her, leaving her alone in the hallway. The aggression had drained from her, leaving her feeling vulnerable and stupid and very sad.

She should probably follow him, but her embarrassment won out. She reasoned he needed time to cool off, and with no other option available to her she turned and slowly made her way back to the dormitory.

She found Edna just sitting on her bed, her laundry now neatly hung. The pair stared at one another, an impasse of centuries of injustices that neither were responsible for between them.

Sybil said nothing as she moved about the room, beginning to gather her things.

"So you're leaving?"

Sybil paused, her back straightening, before she resumed her work, giving no response.

Edna sighed. "I know you're angry with me."

"Can we please not do this? I'm not interested in hearing from you at the moment."

The sound of disgust from her roommate stirred Sybil's ire, and she whirled about, facing the other woman. "You have the nerve to be upset with _me_?"

"Oh please," Edna bit out. "Don't pretend that things aren't going to work out for you."

"They've fired me!" Sybil cried. "This job was important to me and all I was asking for was a few more days, but your disgust of my birth has turned you hard and cold and bitter."

"And your birth has left you pampered and spoiled and more than a little naïve," Edna shot back. "I won't apologize for telling. They needed to know."

"That wasn't your decision to make!" Sybil cried.

"Then you shouldn't have involved me. The only mistake I made was agreeing not to tell in the first place. But you put me in an awkward position and that wasn't fair. I know you think I'm ridged but I broke the rules once too, like you, and I suffered the consequences of that decision."

Sybil's brow went up.

Edna gave a sour laugh. "I've shocked you. But it's not an especially interesting story. I fell in love with a man above my station. His family didn't approve, forced his hand and he chose his wealth over me and our…" she swallowed her words, burying them deep inside, just as she had every day before. "Well anyway, I had no one and I made a decision and I have to face the consequences of that decision every day. I play by the rules now and it wasn't fair for you to ask me to break them. I know this job was important to you, but this job is my life. It's all I have. I can't be distracted worrying about you."

Sybil felt her heart breaking, struggling with the weight of what women suffered.

Edna stood, heading for the door. "I don't know what's going on between you and Branson, but you're at least not alone. You have someone who cares for you a great deal, and willing to be a father to your baby. That should count for something."

"I'm not ready to leave," Sybil breathed sadly.

"With all due respect, milady, it's not just about you anymore."

She walked out, leaving Sybil with her thoughts.

_to be continued_

**_Thanks for reading!_**

_See you next year! **I KID, I KID!** (I hope)._


	10. Chapter 10

**A Fool's Errand**

**By: piperholmes**

**A/N Thank you so very much for the reviews on the last chapter. It felt like a sweet home coming among friends! HUGS to you all! And Hello to those who have found this story for the first time. Your words of encouragement and observation on plot and characters are treasured! Onwards. **

**Unbeta'd**

* * *

><p>Tom Branson was a man who felt things keenly.<p>

He could be rigid and cold, but only in an effort to hide how much he was truly feeling. He was an enthusiastic supporter of change and progression, but sought for it through justice. Joining in the war effort as an ambulance driver had seemed a way to live in two worlds: peace and war.

He had expected blood and death, but he hadn't expected how deeply it would stain him. He hadn't expected the broken cries of young boys who were afraid to die. He hadn't expected to see the laughter fade from their eyes. He hadn't expected the way their dreams and hopes for the future would haunt him, how easily he would forget their names and faces and how heavily that guilt would weigh on him.

"You're a lucky one," they'd told him when they pulled him from the rubble, the whistling of the shell still warning in his ears, and he'd nearly vomited.

Lucky.

He'd been ashamed of his relief at being sent back to London to recover. He'd not suffered the worst of war he knew, but he'd been on the edge of his endurance, and with the threat of losing his leg hanging over him, he'd felt a darkness gripping him, cutting all possible escape.

And that's when he'd met her.

She had been a spark of life in the graveyard of his world.

It wasn't that she was beautiful—she was, the most beautiful woman he'd probably ever met—but she had smiled at him, a full, bright, happy smile and he'd smiled back. She smiled at every one. There wasn't a boy on their floor that wouldn't perhaps overplay his pain a little in the hope that Nurse Crawley would fluff his pillow and smile at him, and speak words of comfort in her raspy voice.

Tom had met a few boys like her in the army, people who could witness some of life's worst and most horrific offerings, and still find something to hold onto, something to be happy about, something to believe in. It wasn't a quality Tom had ever held in much esteem, until now.

She was kind to everyone, and he'd known he wasn't anyone special, but he didn't care. He looked forward to her visits everyday, he relished their time together, to tease her into laughter or provoke her into passion—a passion that mirrored his own. But they had grown closer, she began spending more time with him, helping him to walk about and exercise, squeezing his arm encouragingly, sneaking him an extra chocolate pudding, but he'd never dared hope it would blossom into anything more than a friendship, a memory he would treasure and keep safe.

And then he'd married her.

He was mad.

A secret wedding to a woman he hardly knew who was pregnant with another man's baby and whose father was an Earl.

That shell must have scrambled his brain along with his leg.

He hadn't meant to get so angry with her but she had managed to get under his skin, scrapping at the wounds that had barely scabbed over. He hated war and he hated being reminded that he was in competition with a ghost.

"Tom?"

Her voice startled him, causing him to whip around, wincing at the strain he put on his leg before he realized the action was a reflex, that the pain didn't come.

"Your leg," she said, rushing to him, reaching to steady him.

"It's fine," he spit out, waving off her hands. He had come outside, the bitter wind whipping about them. He'd not bothered to grab a coat, being too hot under the collar, and had welcomed the biting cold, but he supposed he should have known she'd come looking for him. It was who she was.

"You're angry with me," she said finally, wanting to fill the silence that had fallen between them. "And that's understandable."

"You had no right to say those things to me," he accused sharply. "I know it makes me a coward, but I have no desire to rush back to war Sybil. Not now."

"Now?" she questioned.

He sighed. "I'd finally reconciled my fate in this war. Being pulled from the wreckage did something to me. It took away some of the fear I think. I came close to dying and it suddenly didn't seem so daunting. But then I met you and now everything is so much harder. You—you make me feel so damned happy Sybil, and it scares the hell out of me."

"You never said," she offered weakly.

"Well I'm saying it now."

"I don't think it makes you a coward," she said carefully, looking up at him through her lashes, "not wanting to die. I never should have said those things."

Tom merely huffed in agreement, his breath a smoky puff.

"I was angry and I'm afraid I took it out on you. Dr. Turner, he knows about the baby, Edna told him, and I've been dismissed."

Tom's gaze flew to hers, his eyes wide, his own feelings forgotten. "What? They've sacked you?"

She nodded, her eyes filling, but she continued, fighting to keep her voice steady. "Yes, effective immediately. But they ar—are allowing me to stay at the hospital if—if that is what—"

Her words faltered and Tom didn't hesitate, pulling her quickly into his arms. She was cold and shivering, despite the coat she wore, and he felt a heel.

The slight pressure on his forearms brought him up short as her hands moved to grip them, even as her control over her emotions began to slip. "No. Wait. I need to say this," she pleaded, her nose and cheeks growing red. "I realize I wasn't at my best earlier—"

"Not at your best?" He interrupted, surprised at how easily his anger and frustration with her had fled in the face of her distress. "Sybil, you'd had a shock, suffered a devastating disappointment. It's alright to say that you felt hurt and lost. It's alright to say you were angry. You don't have to try and pretty it up or lessen what you were feeling."

She hesitated, her glassy eyes reflecting the pale sunlight of the wintery day.

He tugged her behind a large tree that two weeks ago had been a seemingly insurmountable distance to his battered and aching leg, but she had walked with him, refused to let him give in, to give up. Her calm reassurance and patience had motivated him to keep going, and her delighted laugh had been his reward.

"Look," he began again, once they had been afforded some privacy. "You don't have to be so…so…"

"What?"

"So damned lady like all the time," he burst out.

Her eyes grew wide and he very nearly regretted his words until he saw a glimmer of amusement in her blue depths.

"Alright," she said slowly. "I was angry."

He almost laughed himself.

"Come on. You can do better than that," he prompted lightly.

"I was…furious." Her grip on his forearms tightened.

"Yes," he said simply.

"I was angry that Edna broke my confidence."

"What else?" he pressed.

She looked at him, but he could tell her sight was now inward, her breathing growing rapid as she looked deeply to what she was feeling.

"I was hurt that all my work and service was so easily dismissed," she confessed. "I know the rules, but a part of me had hoped that they would have fought harder to keep me. But they didn't."

Her shoulders slumped, her knuckles growing white as they clenched the fabric of his sleeve. He wanted to comfort her, but instinct kept him quiet.

"And," she started again. "I was angry at him."

Tom fought the urge to stiffen. There was no need to explain the _him_ she referred to.

"He…he left me to deal with all of this," she said, her voice growing pained. "He took what he wanted and left me to pick up the pieces. He sent me a letter…a…damned letter!"

Her gaze sharpened on his and he knew something had broken free.

"I trusted him. I l—loved him; at least I thought I did. He said he loved me. He said we were going to be married. I cared for him, worried over him. I gave him what he wanted, not because I wanted to give it, but because I wanted him to feel better and then he sends me a letter? Is that all I meant to him? All the years we spent together, all the dreams we use to speak of, the past, the future, and he leaves me to face this alone? He leaves his child to face this? How could I have been so stupid?"

Her words were tumbling out now, the dam broken.

"I give my all and yet I am so easily dismissed."

Her last words were quietly spoken, but they sounded a bomb in Tom's ears.

"No," he breathed, pulling her more fully into his arms as a sob escaped her lips. This time she gave no resistance, her face burying against his neck. "No, no, love."

He cooed softly at her as the months of carefully concealed heartache bled out. He stroked her hair, made small circles on her back, doing anything he could think to bring comfort.

Her body began to still, exhausted from the emotional turmoil of the day, her cries slowing to a few shuttering breaths. Tom dug into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, turning her slightly so he could slide it up to her between them.

He felt more than heard her appreciation as she took it from him, pulling back so she could give a rather inelegant blow, wiping the evidence of her breakdown away.

"Please don't," he said suddenly, causing her head to come up.

Tom couldn't stop the wave of tenderness that swept through him at the sight of large, red eyes and tear stained cheeks. His hand moved to tuck her hair behind her ear as he took the handkerchief from her with his other.

"Don't be embarrassed," he continued, gently using the fabric to wipe her face.

She closed her eyes and Tom gave into the impulse to lightly kiss each closed lid. He continued to hold her close, his own heart aching for her.

"Tom," she said finally, her breath warm against his skin. "It's still no excuse for how I spoke to you."

He chuckled softly, the sound deep in his chest. "You're forgiven love," he said plainly. "Besides, if you can't take out your feelings on your husband then who can you?"

"Is that what marriage is like?" she asked, her tone growing playful.

"I suppose," he answered. "I imagine there will be many more rows in our future." He gave her a squeeze. "As long as we always end up like this I think we'll be alright."

She hugged him back. "It seems odd, but I actually feel comfort in that."

"I guess that's what marriage is then: finding comfort even in the knowledge that we are going to have any number of disagreements" He teased.

He felt her lips move into a smile.

"But Sybil," he began, his tone serious. "I want you to know that I will never regret marrying you, and I hope that one day you'll know in your heart that I will stay true to that promise. You are an amazing woman Sybil Crawley. Your heart is so generous, your passion so strong. You challenge me to be a better man, and your belief in me is why I'm standing here today. I know you are going to be an exceptional mother and a source of goodness to all around you."

She blushed at his words. "Branson."

"Yes?"

"No," she corrected. "You said Sybil Crawley. It's Branson now."

"Ah," he laughed. "Of course, my mistake. Sybil Branson."

"Because we are in this together now."

She had meant to sound teasing, but he heard the buried fear.

"Forever," he promised.

_**to be continued**_

Note: My plan is for Downton to finally put in an appearance next chapter but we'll see if the muse decides to play nice!


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